They shaved her first, the straight razor gleaming in the sun as they peeled away her dark locks one stroke at a time, revealing the warm brown scalp underneath. Her thick, rich hair fell in waves, gathering like a dark pool around her knees, until there was nothing left but her striking beauty. And in that moment, I wanted to kiss her, to touch her, to run my fingers over her smooth bald skull and touch every raw mark with my lips. Had she felt that way when she saw me? I could still feel her cheeks against the smoothness of my scalp, freshly shaved and still warm and glowing from the cool heat of the steel razor.
And then the Matriarch herself stepped forth, the needle like a dagger in her gloved hands.
The nipples were first — the delicate tissue of her breast squeezed, the clamps held by one of the men, extending her large nipples as the Matriarch pushed the needle through one after the other. I saw Naomi wince, her eyes blinking back tears. But her gaze remained locked on me as they threaded the heavy silver rings through her newly pierced breasts. Her septum was next, the Matriarch stepping aside so I could watch the needle sliding through the skin as if it were butter, bringing the first tears.
The pain was indisputable, undeniable, but she owned it without a sound, a single tear sliding down her flushed cheek. I longed to wipe it away, to kiss it away. My muscles tense, my mind begging to test my bonds yet knowing I was helpless but to watch. Somewhere deep in my core reveled in watching Naomi undone, seeing the mirror come to life, my own reflection staring back at me. I could finally see what I was, who I was, and perhaps, I realized, what I would ever be.
The Matriarch stood back to admire her work as the heavy silver ring, matching the ones in her nipples, was threaded into place over her upper lip.
And then, before I realized what was happening, she pulled a box forward, black lacquered and as foreboding as it had ever been, covered in knobs and dials and a single display. In her other hand, a set of clamps, like the ones I’d worn, the metal gleaming in the light. They were fastened to her nipples with a tug, and the chain pulled tight.
Another set of clamps she placed on Naomi’s cunt, spreading her open, as I’d been spread open. But then the men moved behind her, the platform at her back, and she was pulled upwards, her wrists bound overhead, her ankles locked in place, her arms stretched above her head, her legs pulled apart, the chain of her clamps attached to her ankles, leaving her spread, her body taut, her clit exposed.
I watched, helpless, suddenly flush, aching for her — to be her, to feel what she was feeling as the Matriarch attached the final clamp and the lead wire. When she turned to me, her eyes were as dead as ever, piercing blue, but lifeless — pure rage or absolute disinterest, I couldn’t tell. Had I meant anything to her? Did Naomi? Did anyone. Her face was blank when she leaned in and attached a matching clamp to my clit, and then she stepped away, leaving me inhaling her disdain, like staring up at a starless night.
Then she straightened, her gaze roaming over us as if she were overseeing a funeral. “Did I mention you would find your mirror here?” she said, her eyes lingering a moment on me. “And now you have.” Then she pressed the button in the center of the box, set it on a low table between us and turned away.
The first shock hit our clits just as the door closed, and the room went white hot with pain. Somewhere beyond the blinding light, Naomi’s cries echoed mine.
The room faded away into nothing. The hood was gone still, but all I could see was her — Naomi, helpless and beautiful, her lips trembling, her skin flushed, her eyes on mine. She’d known. The whole time. She’d guided me here. I could hear it in the shape of her sobs.
The pain seared my clit, through my cunt, straight to my core, and I sobbed with her. But as the seconds wore on, my focus narrowed. My eyes locked on hers. Agony turning into exhaustion. Then resolve. And then to something else entirely. We moaned together, our eyes locked, our minds fused. And it happened. Something. A shift. A change. And suddenly, the pain turned, transformed into a kind of pleasure I’d never felt before. I came undone in that moment and found Naomi’s eyes as the orgasm ripped through me. My breath caught as I watched the echo of that orgasm find her, and back and forth we went, shuddering and sharing, each spurred on by the other, as if something besides the wires connected us.
Had she known this all along? Had she simply wanted me here, beside her, to share her own dark fantasies? Had she known she was my mirror, and I, hers, from that first day? I couldn’t fathom it. My mind couldn’t even wrap itself around a tangible thought. And yet there, as the last rays of sunlight painted the sky in pink and purple, we found ourselves.
We would come undone here. We would unravel and find ourselves in the process. We would find our end. And our beginning.
I didn’t know the moment they took us from the great house. The world was out of focus. Naked, in chains, we shuffled along until wooden planks turned to concrete and then to dirt underfoot. The faint noise of the house faded as we passed under a copse of trees and into a field under a moonless sky, a single beam playing across the path ahead. But I could smell the change in the air. Hear the chirps of the crickets, the sounds of night coming alive. We passed the gardens, the scent of blooming roses in the air, and my thoughts drifted to the farm and the beautiful young man I’d found there, who’d shown me what I could be for the first time.
And then the air changed — horses and hay.
We were taken to an old stable, nothing like the ones I’d seen in my first days at the estate. They left us there in a small paddock, bound and gagged still, like animals. A dirt floor, a pile of hay and a blanket were all we had for comfort. A bucket for our needs squatted along the back, barren wall. I dropped into the softness of the hay before I could take another step, and Naomi settled in beside me. The room, if it could be called that, smelled of grass and earth, but Naomi, her body warm and soft and perfectly nestled against mine, smelled like jasmine and sweat and pure, unadulterated lust.
I pressed my mouth to the back of her bald head, wishing I could close my lips to kiss the skin there, and drifted away into oblivion.
I slept, a deep, dreamless sleep, my body aching, my clit still throbbing from the hours of torment.
When I woke, my eyes opening in darkness, I imagined the sound of horses, like the ones I’d grown up around. The scent of polished leather and soap. The quiet stamping of hooves. The rustling of breath from a charge of beautiful beasts at rest. The place had been a stable once — that much was clear. But now? Now it was something else. Only the morning would tell us what it was.
I slept again, and this time, I dreamed. I dreamed of home. The cool wood floors under my feet. The warm morning breezes on the balcony, busy street fifteen floors below, the skyline stretching out toward the Golden Gate. I dreamed of my job, my car, my routine. Warm coffee on the balcony, a second cup as I rode the trolley down Hyde. Ghirardelli chocolate and warm scones. Never-wasted minutes flipping through albums at Tower Records. The day unfolded as if I were a passenger, and then I was home again, my eyes finding Amy’s bright smile.
My lover, my friend, my temptress. I dreamed of my bed, and the soft sheets, the cool air of the night, the moonlight filtering through the shades. Her body pressed against mine. Her lips on mine, fingers in my hair, guiding me to her core. My tongue unfolded her petals, wet with heat and need, my own aching, spurred by her soft mewling in the dark. I trembled when her fingers found my clit, and then I blinked, my eyes opening to the warm brown of Naomi’s beautiful bald head. Not Amy, but Naomi. Not home, but still there on the pile of hay. Still bound, still gagged.
Still a slave, and suddenly with no sense of the summer and how long I’d belonged to F.U.C.K. And how much longer would I be there.
Author’s Notes: What’s next for Olivia and Naomi? I’ve been thinking about this a lot, trying to find my way to the end here. It’s not easy, and that’s because more often than not, I know after all these years that I need to let my fingers decide as I type. What will happen, and how we will come to the end I envision, will play out as I type. I know there will be probably three more episodes, and I have a sense of how this ends, but right now, I can’t be sure what will happen between the next few paragraphs, which I’ve already written, and the final scene, which I have in my head.
And that’s what makes writing for me so fun. Something is going to happen. Olivia is going to either find her way home — the end of the summer is coming close — or she will stay forever as she is.
What do you think should happen?
wow wow just as goofd as chapter 1 thanks so much Tony Z!!!!
I think she wants to stay forever. 😈